


Jacket

by Wrathofscribbles



Series: Shipping words [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 20:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19448812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: Waste not want not.  It's something he's sworn by for most of his life and he can't quite remember where he picked it up from.





	Jacket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ninemoons42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/gifts).



> **Big bold reminder that FFXV and all of its content belong to Square Enix.** I'm just rolling around in the sandpit they've created.

Waste not want not. It's something he's sworn by for most of his life and he can't quite remember where he picked it up from. Advice from a line of private tutors? Pointers gleaned in childhood from someone else's parents, parents who actually gave a damn about their kid? Maybe he heard it in passing from the Citadel staff once he became a permanent fixture in Regis's orbit, as much his shadow as Clarus.

The where doesn't matter these days. Nor the when or the who, only the why. It's served him well in the past and does even now. The jacket is old and worn, faded and frayed beyond standard use, too small to survive the width of his shoulders, but it's not _for_ him, here.

He throws it over Nyx instead, another layer to trap the heat in close, something soft and _fabric_ to remind his addled brain he's safe, there are no daemons or vengeful Kings looming over him. Not so long as Cor is there to stand guard and keep claw and blade away from him, silent sentry between locked door and the ill Glaive at his back.

Waste not want not - the weapons he's outgown over the years scattered throughout his apartment, a potential for resistance in every room.

And maybe he's overreacting. Maybe Nyx will find evidence of Cor's fussing when he comes back to himself and laugh to the point of crying. But so many people fall ill these days with so few recoveries and Nyx is down from a _daemon_ attack, and they've only gotten stronger in this longest night.

No. Nyx will pull through. He's too stubborn a pain in the ass to die.

So Cor stands guard, and waits for Nyx to return to himself. Waits for the shedding of jacket and blanket and quilt and towel in favour of crawling into a cold shower, full set of clothes be damned.


End file.
